Rewriting History
by Desperate Derelict
Summary: An insert into 7x06 ' The Time of Our Lives'. This is an AU of an AU! (An AU squared?) Instead of storming off, Captain Beckett challenges Castle to show her what 'his universe' is all about. She should have known better. Will start off as a K due to language, but may shift in the future.
1. Season One

**_History is always written wrong, and so always needs to be rewritten_** _. – George Santayana_

 ** _Intro_** _: Takes place during 7x06,_ _The Time of our Lives_ _, immediately after Beckett and Castle captured their Australian Football loving suspect at the sports bar and brought him back to the 12_ _th_ _precinct._

 **Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are the result of the fertile mind of Andrew H Marlowe, owned by AHM & ABC Studios, and brought to life brilliantly by Nathan Fillion, Stana Katic, **_**et al.**_ **I don't own them, I only abuse them.**

Police Captain Kate Beckett and author Richard Castle watch as their suspect is led away by a uniformed officer, on his way to booking. Castle turns to the Captain and asks "Well? What'd he say?"

Beckett shakes her head. "Nothing, on the advice of his high-powered counsel."

"Okay. So what's our next move?"

"There is no next move. You asked to stick around until this case was resolved. It's resolved."

"How is it resolved?"

She explains, as if speaking to a child. "Detectives Ryan and Esposito found the G-wagon and the murder weapons at our suspect's place. This is open and shut."

"What about the artifact? We need to find it."

"Whoever had them steal it, it and they are long gone by now."

"Someone has to know where it is. There's the other shooter."

"Okay, but we have no way to find him. Look, the DA's going to ask for a plea deal, but trust me. This suspect's ex-military, he's not going to roll."

Castle is stunned, but never speechless. "So that's it?"

"This isn't one of your books, Mr. Castle. You don't always get the answers. We cleared the case. It's a win."

As she turns to walk away, Castle's speech increases in volume. "NO! You know, that can't be it!" As she turns back to look at him, his voice takes on a sense of urgency. "The Kate Beckett in my world would never call this a win. The Kate Beckett where I come from? She would be unrelenting in the face of anything that is thrown in her path. She would find the truth and she would never compromise."

Beckett's face reflects the fury in her voice. "I don't know what twilight zone world you think you come from, but you don't know me, and don't pretend you do. So, Mr. Castle, we're done …. " Beckett pauses, her facial expression more controlled, more contemplative, but the anger still very evident. "You know what, Mr. Castle? We're NOT done. I spoke too soon. Please, follow me."

Although phrased politely, it's obviously not a request. She leads the way into her office, and closes the door after Castle enters. She indicates one of the chairs at the front of her desk while she pulls out her swivel chair and sits. She then pushes the power button on her desktop computer. As she's waiting for the machine to come to life, she grabs the novel _Storm Season_ off her desk. Opening her top right hand drawer, she places the book in there, taking several seconds to situate it, and then closes the drawer. She continues to logon to her computer. From Castle's perspective, it looks like she's pulling up a case file. She looks at Castle and asks "So, Mr. Castle, in YOUR world, the first case we worked on was the Tisdale case, right? Tell me about it."

"I thought you didn't believe in time travel, alternative universes, or anything else that wasn't provable in a court of law."

"Well, you're a novelist, right? A producer of fiction, a story teller. So, wow me, Mr. Castle."

Castle contemplated her with half closed eyes. Her hint of challenge, her intimation of a sultry smile, was so familiar, and so endearing, it tugged at his heart strings. God, he wanted HIS Beckett back, with all his heart and soul. So, what did he have to lose? He took a large breath and began.

"Six years ago, in March of 2009, I was at the launch party for _Storm Fall,_ bored to tears. I was explaining to my daughter just how bored I'd become: with Storm, with writing, with life – when this drop-dead gorgeous woman accosted me. Surprisingly, she didn't want her book signed, or her chest signed either. No, she flashed a badge, stated she was a homicide detective, and wanted to ask me about a couple of murders. She gave me a ride here to her precinct, and left me to stew in an interrogation room for half an hour. She finally returned; then proceeded to make fun of my previous … indiscretions. Sound familiar, Captain? Then she showed me photographs of the crime scenes. It was obvious that someone was copying murder scenes from my earlier novels. I agreed to deliver my fan mail to her, and was released. The next day, I approached Captain Montgomery and offered my assistance with the case."

At this point, Castle stopped, and began to look very uncomfortable. His glance slid to the elephant figurines on the captain's desk, then back to her beautiful green eyes. He swallowed and asked, "How _is_ Captain Montgomery, Beckett?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"This is your party, Beckett. You want the story, I need the background." His voice became almost menacing as he asked "How's Roy?"

She paused for a few seconds, then responded "He's fine. Enjoying retirement."

"And Evelyn and the girls?"

Beckett's eyebrows shot up. "Great. Last time I heard, little Whitney was accepted into Stuyvesant."

"Good. That's good." He took a breath and continued, his head down, concentrating on the figurines on her desk. "Okay." He mentally shook himself. "So, anyway, Captain Montgomery agreed I might be some help, much to the chagrin of the lead detective on the case." He flashed a smile. "We reviewed the fan mail, and came up with a viable suspect. Fingerprints led us to Kyle Cabot, a patient of Allison Tisdale's suffering from Pervasive Development Disorder. Unfortunately, not before another victim was found, a young lady stabbed and floating in a pool." Castle looked up at her, his eyes wide, and added "I can't remember her name. How terrible is that?" He started to panic. "Oh, SHIT! A young lady, senselessly murdered because of a book I wrote, and I can't even remember her damn name! … "

"MISTER CASTLE!"

The third cry of his name stopped him. He shook himself and responded "What?"

"Mr Castle, it was over six years ago." Surprised at how distraught the rich _prima donna_ was getting, she took pity on him, and after glancing at the computer screen, supplied the victim's name. "Kendra Pitney."

Castle looked … relieved. "Ahh! Thank you, Captain. Yes. Kendra Pitney. A waitress in the diner. Well, anyway, after arresting poor Kyle and bringing him back here - where he didn't say "Boo" - you charged him and were apparently closing the case. The circumstantial evidence against him was overwhelming."

"But you, being the brilliant and intrepid investigator, didn't buy that?" Her tone dripped sarcasm.

It occurred to Castle that, if he wanted to be believed, if he wanted to sway this Beckett into pursuing the current case further and help to retrieve the magical pendant, he'd need to minimize his role in this story. He needed to stress the teamwork, the shared triumphs, to capture the captain's interest. He continued. "Actually, Captain, you and I independently determined that the crimes couldn't have been committed by Cabot."

"So, how'd we do that, Mr. Castle?"

"Look, would you PLEASE drop the Mister crap?"

She shrugged. "Sure."

"Well, _captain,_ you later told me you found it very unlikely that a serial killer would kill a casual acquaintance, then escalate to his therapist, then kill another casual acquaintance. Perfect profiling. I, on the other hand, thought it improbable that an obsessive like Kyle would get so many of the crime scene details wrong – Allison's roses, Marvin's necktie, and Kendra's dress were all wrong."

"All first names of the dead? You seem to identify with the victims, Castle."

"Well, Beckett, YOU taught me that."

She blinked. "So, in this world of yours, _we_ solved it?"

"Yep. Caught Harrison Tisdale trying to shred his fake passports."

"It says here that Detective McNulty had to save you from Tisdale, who had a gun on you just outside his apartment."

"In my version too, but it was you in that alley, detec … er … captain. Wasn't a big deal – the safety was on the entire time."

Beckett typed something into her computer, and the screen changed. "So, how did you go from a one time advisor on a case related to your writing, to this super homicide investigator you pretend to be?"

Castle chose not to take offense at Beckett's obviously provocative question. "Simple, Beckett. I used my friendship with Mayor Weldon to influence the police commissioner, who in turn influenced Captain Montgomery. Needless to say, you were NOT happy about it."

"No, six years ago, I don't imagine I would have been overjoyed. Were you always this outspoken and disrespectful?"

"Oh, no way, Captain …" Castle smiled and continued " … I was much worse."

A quick roll of her eyes, then she checked her screen. "Okay. So you weasel your way onto my team. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why was it so important for you to join my team?"

Castle stared at her, then took his phone out of his pocket. He slid it to open, appeared to search for something, then worked his thumbs furiously for several seconds. He looked up as he returned the phone to his jacket pocket, and simply said "Inspiration."

Beckett raised an eyebrow. "Inspiration for what?"

"Check your In Box, Captain."

Beckett opened another window on her desktop, waited a few seconds as some items downloaded, then asked, "Alright, Castle. What is Heat Wave, and why is it sixteen megabytes?"

"My novel about working here."

"You wrote a novel about us?"

"A series of novels. You are the detective I used as a template for my protagonist, Nikki Heat."

Now Beckett looked mad. "You called me Nikki Heat?"

"No! Why would I call YOU Nikki Heat? My fictional character was named Nikki Heat. Of course, since everyone knew she was based on you, a lot of other people called you Nikki Heat." At her glare he added, much more subdued "Maybe not A LOT of people. It was mostly people with a death wish."

Beckett's eyes were shooting daggers. "You are really something, aren't you, Castle?"

"That seems to be the general consensus."

"Okay, moving on. What was our next case?"

"Really? We're going to do this now?"

"You have something better to do, Castle? You offered to take me out on a date. It's only 8:20 pm. THIS is what I choose to do. Oh, by the way, Mister Super-cop, what was our close rate during your tenure with us?"

Castle looked right in her eyes, unblinking. "94% close rate, 89% conviction rate."

Beckett snorted. "Now I KNOW you're full of shit, Castle."

Castle set his jaw, his blue eyes piercing. "Fine, let's go on. After signing seemingly endless forms to protect the city from my lawyers, our first real case was Nanny McDead in the spin dry."

Beckett sneered, "So much for identifying with the victims, huh, Castle?"

Castle sat forward, eyes blazing. "So, what are YOUR defense mechanisms, captain? Oh, wait, let me guess. Long motorcycle rides. Long baths with a good novel. And maybe, building a wall around your heart, so nobody can get in, and that fun-loving girl that went to Stanford so many years ago can't get out?" He threw up his palms in apology before Beckett could erupt. "I'm sorry, Captain. That was uncalled for. Just, please don't jump to the conclusion that I don't care just because I'm a little flippant." He took a calming breath. "Victim's name was Sarah Manning, a lovely young woman from Atlanta. Worked for the Petersen's, who were a piece of work, and was having an affair with a married man on the 15th floor, one Ian Harris, who was REALLY a piece of work. The Harris nanny, Chloe Richardson, was also in love with Harris, and hit her friend Sarah with a bottle of bleach. It was all very sad." He looked up into her eyes and said "You talked Chloe out of hurting herself, her unborn baby, or anyone else when she was holding a butcher knife down in their laundry room. At that time, it was one of the bravest things I'd ever seen."

Beckett was still angry, and refused to be mollified. "Why, 'at that time'?"

"Because since then, I have seen some truly extraordinary acts of bravery here with the NYPD, mostly by you and members of your team."

"Huh. Okay, super-cop, how'd you solve the case?"

"The elevator camera showed that Sarah's second and last trip to the basement was five seconds longer than her first trip. Ergo, she was coming from the 15th floor."

"Oh, very Agatha Christie, Castle."

He smiled. "Thanks. No, wait. How'd you solve it?"

"Sarah's sister, Eileen, came in with her family to identify and make arrangements for the remains. Sarah had confided the affair to her sister, and her guilt about Chloe. Just old fashioned police work, Castle." Beckett switched screens again. "Next case?"

Castle took a moment to think. "Okay. I think of it as the Viking Valhalla Tragedy because of some of the things we said to each other after the victim was found in a boat in central park. A high school student named Donny Kendall, the victim of … ".

"That wasn't our next case, Castle! Are you sure you didn't mean the Perry brothers' carjacking?"

"No, Captain, I've never heard of that case. It was definitely Donny Kendall, recently impoverished Redding Prep student and gunshot victim." He waited while she entered the information and pulled up the case." When she started reading, he asked, "This one wasn't your case, was it? Why not?"

Her eyes went to the top of the screen, then returned to reading as she explained. "Hadn't wrapped up Sarah's case yet. It was assigned to Carmine's team at the 5th. Gimme a minute … " she continued to quickly scan the case file, before looking up " … okay. How'd you solve this one, Sherlock?"

This Beckett's attitude was definitely wearing on his nerves. "Well, despite everybody loving the violent drug dealer for it, **we** figured out it was all a set-up. The group of sociopaths in his high school clique lied about what happened, then lied again, then a third time after Max Heller supposedly killed himself with the same weapon. He tried to make it look like a murder-suicide by killing his friend, but you were brilliant after you got him in the box, and **we** ran a game on him that tricked him into what you called an 'Admission Against Interest'. He was so discombobulated, he wrote out a full confession."

"He, WHO, Castle?"

"Oh, uh, Brandon, Brandon Funk. The king weasel of the trust funders? What? Who'd they arrest?"

"Nobody. It looks like you are deviating from reality, Castle. The case was closed as a delayed murder-suicide. So, your fantasy world just ran into the actual world, and lost."

"No, wait, Captain. Check the autopsy report. Doctor Parrish found a blood alcohol level of almost point-three, and what she called a 'slight abrasion' on Heller's trigger finger, as if his finger was forced and held in the trigger guard. She confirmed it would be very difficult for someone that young to have that amount of alcohol in their system and be conscious. "

She stared at Castle, her disbelief obvious, before looking once more at the screen. She paged down and started reading quickly, her eyebrows climbing her forehead the more she read. She turned and asked, "So, what are you suggesting we do?"

"I'm not suggesting anything, Beckett." He returned her attitude, in spades. "I'm just making up stories here, remember?"

She gave him a contemptuous glance, then spent a full minute rapidly typing an email. She attached the case file, hit 'Send', the returned to the case folder. "Okay, Castle. Next case?"

Castle sighed and glanced at his wristwatch, which irritated Beckett. "You got somewhere you need to be, Castle?"

"Captain, you know we're talking about hundreds of cases over the course of half a decade, don't you?"

"Well, let's take them one at a time. The next one was …?"

"I'd rather discuss us. Our relationship, our hopes, our dreams …"

"I am not the LEAST bit interested in your dreams, Castle. Nor your undoubtedly disturbing fantasies about me. Try to remember I _am_ armed. Next case … ?"

He sighed again, loud and long. "Councilman Jeffrey Horn, wrapped in a carpet after being shot to death. His campaign manager and Mrs Horn, tired of his continued dalliance with a high end call girl, not to mention the blackmail which he'd made himself susceptible, voted him off the island, so to speak. The trial took a thousand times longer than the case."

"Okay! We're back to reality. You got it in one! Castle, I don't know what's going on with you, or what your angle is, but your memory for names and details is very impressive." Another case file brought up. "Next?"

"Melanie Cavanaugh, mother of two, wife of Sam, found frozen solid at a construction site, after being missing for five years. Turns out, husband Sam killed her, stuffed her in a freezer, and put her in 'cold' storage until he couldn't pay the bill anymore. You got his friend, Charles Wyler, on 'Accessory after the fact'."

He met Beckett's eyes and smiled, the smile fading as her gaze became increasingly intent. She finally commented, "There's something you're not telling me, and I want to know what it is."

"It's nothing, really. It was a very intense case. That was when you told me about your watch, and your necklace."

An eyebrow arched high, but her gaze never wavered. "I find that part of your story surprising, and somewhat out of character for me. I can see why you'd mention that now, though; you're deflecting. What are you trying to hide?"

That surprised a small chuckle from Castle. "You were always the best, Beckett. During the course of the investigation, you asked the elderly Cavanaugh neighbor, the one that _didn't_ order the freezer, to describe the police officer that first interviewed her."

"Why would I ask Mrs. … um …" She broke eye contact to look at the case file.

"Marsh" Castle supplied.

"Thank you. Why would I need Mrs Marsh to describe Sherriff Sloan to me?"

"Because Mrs Marsh wasn't questioned at the time of Melanie's disappearance, but years later, just prior to Sam Cavanaugh's shooting."

Beckett's eyes were still directed towards Castle, but he knew she wasn't seeing him. That incredible mind was whirling a million miles an hour. Her eyes suddenly focused back on him. "Melanie's Dad?".

He nodded. "Ben Davidson." As she returned to her computer and started furiously typing another email, he objected. "Beckett, don't bother. He'll never be convicted. You brought him in that night, and he gave a hypothetical and very credible account of his confrontation with his son-in-law. However, the confession was thrown out, and there wasn't a shred of physical evidence to tie him to the murder. The DA kicked it."

Beckett shook her head, while still typing. "Castle, either you haven't been hanging around cases like you claim, or you've missed some very important lessons along the way. One – If you don't assign the guilty party to his or her activities, some other poor slob might be charged with his crimes. And Two – Time changes things. New evidence, new procedures, new information. Also, never discount the remorse of good people. If Mr. Davidson has been walking around with this murder on his conscience, he may want to unburden himself." She finished typing, hit send, and threw Castle a smirk. "Assuming, of course, you're not completely full of shit, which I don't. I'll send someone around tomorrow to interview Mrs Marsh just in case. I will admit, you have a fresh way of looking at old cases. This is more fun than pizza and beers. Okay, next?"

"A double homicide. An illegal immigrant, Jamal Buonsi, and a young lawyer, Darcy Cho, both killed and laid out in a _Vodun_ religious … _tableau_ , for lack of a better term. An ex-child soldier, Muhktar Baylor, was chasing around the city looking for a fake passport he'd lost. You ended up shooting him before he could add a third victim. He'll be in Sing Sing the rest of his life."

"That's close, Castle. Actually, Detective Esposito shot and killed Baylor, after being lightly wounded in the shoulder, pushing me to safety." Reminded of her teammates, she looked out in the bullpen, then leaned over and rapped on the glass. She made a series of hand gestures: first pointing with her index and middle fingers extended, then flipping her hand and curled both fingers twice in, then pointed to the left and then made a brief typing motion, and finally pointing to the right and making two upright fists. She turned back to Castle with a smirk, who hadn't taken his eyes off her. "We're perfecting our non-verbal communication skills here at the precinct."

Castle sounded bored. "You want Ryan and Esposito to join us, with Ryan bringing his laptop and Esposito an extra chair. I speak 12th Precinct, Captain."

Beckett rolled her eyes as the door behind Castle opened. He felt and smelled Ryan before he saw him, pulling up the chair to Castle's right and plopping down. As he spun and opened his laptop, Castle inquired politely "Detective Ryan, can I give you a little advise, one single man to another?"

Ryan turned and looked suspiciously at Castle, before booting up his computer. "Sure, Mr Castle. Of course, I can always ignore anything you say, and if I find it deeply offensive, it'll cost you. Front row center theater tickets, if not worse."

"Fair enough. It's a long way from the 1970's …. you need to lose the Old Spice. There are several less expensive men's cologne that women prefer. Try one of the Michaels; as in Jordan or Kors, or even Polo."

Ryan looked at Castle, then his Captain. Beckett shrugged, her expression agreeing with the author's recommendations. Ryan nodded. "Okay, thanks Mr Castle."

As the Irishman was concentrating on his screen logging on, Beckett grabbed Castle's attention by widening her eyes, then pretended to straighten her imaginary tie, and jerked her head once to her left, Ryan's side. Castle smiled widely, his first true grin in a long while, and shook his head. It would take more than a casual suggestion to get the young detective to stop wearing those hideous ties he was so fond of, but he was heartened that the captain still seemed to retain a little of the fun and humorous Kate within that commanding shell.

Esposito came in and, at his boss's signal, closed the door. He slid the chair he was carrying to Castle's left and sat, effectively sandwiching the writer between he and his partner. Castle stared at the chair, until Esposito asked "Why are you staring at my ass, Writer Boy?"

"It's Writer MAN, Esposito, and I was staring at my chair."

"Your chair? Does it have your name on it?"

"That's not what I put on a chair, detective."

"Whatever." The Latino looked up at Beckett with a long suffering look and asked "What's up, boss?"

"You boys want to have some fun?" They knew Beckett's voice too well, and knew she was setting them up for something bad, something possibly long and painful. The partners exchanged a glance.

"I guess this means we're going to miss dinner?"

Castle swore. "Oh, my god, I'm sorry, guys. I wasn't even thinking. And Beckett, you didn't get any pizza on our date! Here, allow me." He pulled out his cell and dialed.

Castle was totally unaware of the infuriated expression on Beckett's face, or the sly grins at their boss's expense worn by her detectives. Esposito dared to mouth 'date', which produced a glower that would have made a repeat felon weep, but only bounced off her senior detective. Castle started speaking rapidly into his phone in a foreign language, obviously some Chinese dialect. He then looked at the other three in the room, one at a time, either describing them or ordering for them. He then gave the 12th's address in English, then finished shortly with more foreign sounds before hanging up. At their stares, he asked "What?"

"What was that?" "What did you do?" "I don't like Chinese." This last from Esposito.

"Trust me guys, you'll love it."

Beckett straightened in her chair. "Gentlemen. Castle here has been spinning very enjoyable stories about some of our past cases. In his world, we have over a 90% solve rate, and are the best homicide team in the world. So far, we've reviewed a few of his earlier cases, and it's been … interesting. I thought you'd like to hear how we _should_ have done it." She smiled sharply at the writer.

"Hey, before I showed up, you guys were one of the three best teams in the NYPD. I didn't create your success as much as chronicle it."

Ryan looked adorably confused. "Previous cases? How does an author know about our cases?"

"I don't know, Ryan. Let's just go with the flow." She beamed a very pointed look at the writer. "Next case, Castle?"

"This was an ugly one." Castle closed his eyes, the particulars of the case floating in his mind. "Home invasion crew. You'd had the case a few days before I joined you, right after Susan Delgado had been stuffed into her own safe. She was their fourth victim, following the Kesslers, Pastori's, and the poor Brunners. They had beaten Mr Brunner to death." The outrage, and revulsion, in his voice was unmistakable. His eyes popped open and looked into hers, and he added "I think, after interviewing the Delgado daughter JoAnne, this case bothered you, too. I mean, more so than most. We eventually found them, through the charity they were targeting, and you guys took them down."

Ryan was intent on perusing the electronic copy of the case, freeing Beckett to stay focused on Castle. "What charity are you talking about, Castle?"

"Shit! Seriously? Tell me you didn't take Karl Nadir down!"

Esposito spoke up. "Yea, writer boy, we got 'em. We sent warnings out to all the older, wealthy citizens that subscribed to the New Yorker Magazine. The Perry's on West 73rd street activated their silent alarm when Nadir and his crew entered. We got 'em as they were leaving the building."

"Were any of the Perry's hurt?" Castle appeared to be holding his breath.

Beckett shook her head. "Fortunately, they managed to lock themselves in their bedroom, and Mr Perry convinced them he was armed and willing to shoot if they approached the bedroom door. So, Castle, I ask again … what charity?"

"An earlier suspect named Mitchell confided to me that this crew had tried to recruit him, and they had bragged about their inside information for marks with high end jewelry. We cross referenced the charities the earlier victims supported, and found the only common one was the Metropolitan American Dance Theater. They had a gala benefit the next night, and these two jokers worked the door, while we went undercover and attended. We found the head of donations' boyfriend, Paul Reynolds, was their inside man."

"Ryan?" The Irishman started looking up something, while Beckett turned a skeptical gaze on the writer. "We attended a high end charity benefit? As a couple?"

A soft smile graced Castle's face. "Yes we did. That's when I first discovered how good a dancer you were, not to mention how absolutely stunning you could appear when you dressed up."

Esposito gave him a sharp elbow in the ribs. "Watch it, Writer Boy!"

Ryan complained "Captain, this guy is full of crap, there's no Paul Reynolds in our records."

Castle first looked at Ryan. "He changed it. Try the name Chad Ellis." He then looked left into the angry Latino's eyes. "Esposito, don't even think of touching me ever again."

Esposito snorted, "Or you'll what? Write me a nasty note?"

Castle's blue eyes were ice cold. "No, but the next story I tell won't be about an old case, it'll be about what you and your cousin Angel did on his 16th birthday down in Brighton Beach." As Esposito's mouth fell open, and his face paled, Castle continued menacingly "Were they pretty, Javier? Don't you want your friends to hear the whole story, Detective?"

"CASTLE! That's enough!" Beckett then shifted her eyes. "Detective Esposito, back off. I predict we're going to hear a lot of bizarre things tonight. Let's hear everything he has to say before we react."

"Uh, Captain, Chad Ellis just came off of a five year parole, after serving four years for lots of stuff including kiting checks. He changed his name to Paul Raynolds, spelled with an 'a' not an 'e, and recently married Rachel Maddux, a director at M.A.D.T." Ryan sounded a little spooked.

Beckett beamed. "Thank-you, Castle! If you keep entertaining me with these stories, I predict we'll get along just fine!" She typed out another email, then hit enter. "Next case?"

"Captain?" Esposito was incredulous. As her glance skewered him, he slouched down in his chair and muttered "Never mind."

"Castle?"

"Ok, Captain, let me think. I believe the next case wasn't actually a homicide, but a kidnapping. Angela Candela. "

Beckett frowned, her brows creasing, as she checked her computer screen. "So, Castle, I guess you only worked on cases we closed? No wonder your percentages were so high."

"Excuse me?"

"The reason we are reviewing these fictional cases of yours chronologically is to make sure we don't skip one. Actually, I don't have your memory, so doing it this way also helps me keep the case details straight, as one case slides into another in our minds. So, if memory serves, _our_ next case was a very … slick one. Mrs. Allison Goldman? Wife of Dr. Michael Goldman?"

Castle was nodding his head. "You're right, Captain. Sorry, I skipped ahead. Allison Goldman, AKA Cynthia Dern, wanted by the FBI for domestic terrorism for planting a bomb on a ship twenty years ago. Found in a seedy SRO, drowned in a tubful of motor oil."

"Very good, Castle. In your fantasy world, did you solve the case?".

"Yes. Did you solve it in yours?"

"No."

Castle paused for a few seconds, then shifted in his seat. "Okay, let's solve it now. Did you interview that sorry excuse of a writer, Lee Wax?"

"Jealous, Castle? Of course we interviewed her. She had been ghost writing Goldman - Dern's autobiography, and, because of her death, was able to rip it up and write a true crime book. Made the New York Times best seller list."

"Proving there is no justice in _this_ world. Did you read her first book about Dern, before she changed it?"

"Sorry, we were kind of busy working a homicide case. Leisure reading wasn't high on our list."

"Okay. Well, suffice it to say, it was horrible. It was Cynthia Dern's version of events, and was largely fictional. She was just trying to get her sanitized version of the bombing out there before turning herself in. Lee Wax may not have killed her, but certainly orchestrated her death by practically advertising Cynthia Dern's presence and alter ego."

"Okay, so she was sleazy. She had an air tight alibi."

"Did you also interview Captain Pike and his family?"

"Of course we did. Again, they had motive, but alibied out. You're running out of suspects, Castle."

"Bear with me, Captain. Did the Pike family tell you about the money?"

Beckett frowned, remembering. "Yes they did. They had serious money problems with all the medical bills that Captain Pike accrued. The wife, Eleanor, and the son, Andrew, did what they could, but it wasn't enough. Thankfully, they also received anonymous money on a monthly basis, which they eventually figured came from Allison Goldman –slash –Cynthia Dern. It saved them."

"Right. Well, in Dern's illusory autobiography, she never mentioned sending money to the Pikes." Castle sat back in his chair and waited.

Beckett adopted her thousand yard stare. "Wait a minute! If it was her intention to whitewash her past, the first thing she would have stressed was supporting the Pike family." After a few more moments, she wondered "So, who did?"

"Consider, Beckett, that Dern's version of events back then was total horseshit."

"Okay …" Her eyes lit up, her lips turning up. "The third bomber, what's her name, her body was never found!"

Ryan spoke up for the first time, reading off his laptop. "Susan Mailer. But she was vaporized in the explosion."

Castle shrugged. "Says who, Ryan?"

The captain answered for her colleague. "Says the former Cynthia Dern, who we know was lying through her teeth. So, where do we find this Susan Mailer?"

"A couple of the earlier payments were postmarked from somewhere called Lititz, Pennsylvania. There you will find a meek little librarian, still with the scars from a horrific 'traffic accident' when she was younger. Her name is now Mary Wright, which isn't very original. Very low profile. No drivers license, no property owned, nothing."

Esposito wasn't convinced. "So why the elaborate set up with the oil? That makes no sense, writer boy."

"Esposito, the murderer didn't buy the oil."

The captain jumped in, fully engaged in the story. "Cynthia Dern bought it, and was planning on killing Susan Mailer in it. Not only was Mailer the only one who could contradict Dern's version of events, but Dern could take credit for the money sent to the Pike's." She turned towards Castle. "In your world, how was the case resolved?"

"Beckett, you broke her in about thirty seconds. She claimed self defense, but it didn't really matter. The feds got her for the bombing, and New York juries are not kindly disposed towards domestic terrorists. She pled out to both in federal court."

"Okay." Beckett started on another email, while asking "Ryan?"

"Captain, I found an older picture of Mary Wright on the Lancaster County Library site. It could be Susan Mailer." He turned the laptop around, showing a blow up of a group shot side by side with an old FBI wanted poster. "I don't know how he did it, but I think Mr. Castle figured it out."

"Let's not look the gift horse in the mouth, Detective. At least, not yet."

Esposito asked, "Captain, even if this clown is right, how would any of this be admissible?"

"Detective Esposito, please give Mister Castle a dollar."

Esposito first looked confused, but almost immediately grinned. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a billfold, extracted a single, and handed it to the writer. "Congratulations, Writer Monkey, you are now officially an NYPD Confidential Informant. Don't forget to report that on your taxes."

Castle snorted. "Writer Monkey? That's what Sorenson used to call me, Esposito."

Beckett glanced up from her typing. "Nice segue, Mr Mystery Writer. You mentioned the Candela case, Castle?"

"Yeah, Captain. Fortunately, the little girl wasn't really in any danger. It was all a pre-divorce ploy by her Mom and aunt." He paused, then daringly added "Of course, hers wasn't the only unsuccessful ploy, speaking of your ex-boyfriend."

As Beckett glared at him, Esposito muttered "The idiots."

"What idiots, Esposito?" Castle thought he was referring to Beckett and Sorenson.

Esposito looked at Castle like _he_ was an idiot. "The mom and the aunt. How could they not consider the possibility that a Spanish speaking cop or fed wouldn't sit down with Angela and ask her where she'd been? The girl was almost three years old, for Christ's sake. Not only that, but the aunt took the girl to the _park!_ She must have ended up on half a dozen street cams."

"Oh. Huh!"

Beckett looked at the writer. "How'd you figure it out, Sherlock?"

The three cops' attitude was really getting wearing. It was hard to remember that these three were actually strangers, not a fiancé and two comrades in arms. "Well, the kidnapper actually remembered to grab Angela's favorite stuffed animal, and the cell phone that had been secreted with the ransom money was turned off only after Sorenson explained to the family how we were hoping to trace the backpack. So, one plus one equals family."

"Alright, Castle. Next case?"

"The next case would have been Dr. Joshua Leeds, found assassinated in his car."

"Okay. We're on the same page. And, the next case?"

"Don't you want to talk about the Leeds case, Captain?"

"Why? When we couldn't determine which federal witness had the surgery, we hit a wall. Captain Montgomery palmed the case off to the AG office."

Castle shrugged. "Okay."

The Captain's standard glare morphed into a suspicious squint. "Why? What do you know, or think you know?"

"Doctor Leeds adjusted the appearance of one Jimmy 'The Rat' Moran to help him disappear. He worked as an enforcer for the Spolano family, prior to Spolano junior taking over for his old man. The younger Spolano thought Jimmy knew way more family secrets than was good for him, and tried to ace him. Jimmy Moran took exception, and was entering WitSec."

Ryan grinned. "With a nickname like 'The Rat', what did they expect?"

Esposito asked, "How do _you_ know?"

"I asked a friend of mine, Sal 'The Rose' Possi, a mid level thug with the Cambrini family."

"How would he know, and why would he tell you?"

"All those guys seem to know what's going on with each other. I swear, they're worse than teenagers on instagram. As far as why would he tell me, why wouldn't he? Anything bad that happens to the Spolano's is good for the Cambrini's."

Beckett cut in. "Did we find the hit man."

Castle hesitated. "Yeah. It was kind of a mess. You called in your marker with your friend Sorenson, he retrieved Jimmy from the Marshalls, and you and I interviewed him in a parking garage. We managed to scare him out of testifying."

"Yep. I can imagine that would be kind of a mess."

"Oh, Beckett, it gets much worse. We were followed to the meet, and Sorenson and Moran were hit on their way back to the safe house. They were both wounded, Moran pretty badly."

Ryan's voice shot up a full octave. "Wait, you managed to get Captain Beckett's boyfriend shot?"

Castle turned towards the Captain. "What? You dated Will _again?_ "

The phone on the desk rang. Beckett, not at all interested in getting drawn into a conversation about her private life with Castle, answered it promptly. "Captain Beckett … okay, Sergeant, could you show him up …. Right … Sure, if we have any left, I'll call you. Thank you sergeant." She hung up and announced "Foods here. Johnson on the night desk says it smells great." She looked up at Castle. "So, Castle, you were saying you got the hit man?"

"Actually, you did, Beckett. You set up a trap in Moran's original hospital room. Turns out, it was an up and coming female assassin, Carla 'Coldblood' Dante. The feds turned her. Actually, you all probably met her before. She was also known as Maggie Dowd."

"Wait! Leeds' nurse? I interviewed her. A nurse was trying to be a hitman?" Esposito wasn't buying it.

"No, she wasn't really a nurse. Ryan, see if you can find a picture of Margaret Dowd as a registered nurse. She was from the great northwest, either Washington or Oregon."

There was a quick double tap on the door. "Come in." The door swung open, admitting a very small, older Asian gentleman carrying a large white bag, from which mouth watering smells were emanating.

Castle greeted him in Chinese, and pulled out his wallet. "Oh shit." He turned apologetically towards Beckett. "I'm sorry, Captain, I'm still out of money."

Beckett gave a long suffering sigh, reached in a bottom drawer, and pulled out her purse. As she grabbed her billfold she asked the old man "How much?"

"One hundred fifty three, please."

"WHAT!"

Castle chuckled. "That's in _yuan_ , not dollars, Captain. It's about twenty four bucks, plus tip."

Looking relieved, she handed the small man a twenty and a ten. He bowed deeply and shuffled out, to be escorted back by the big desk sergeant.

"Got it!" Ryan spun his laptop around displaying a large, grey haired woman in hospital scrubs. "This is Maggie Dowd."

Esposito muttered, "That's not the Maggie Dowd I interviewed."

Beckett started on yet another email. Meanwhile, Castle had taken the bag, and started passing out food. "Okay _, mu shu_ for Esposito, Beckett gets the specialty dumplings and the hot and sweaty soup, Ryan, here's your _zha jiang mian_ , and I got my usual. Here's an egg roll for everybody, and egg fried rice in the middle. Oh, Espo, here's your sauce." He removed the lid from a bowl, and a bright purple and vivid yellow liquid dazzled their eyes. "You definitely want to stir that before using it. Chop sticks for everybody!" He passed those out then opened his own container. "Dig in!"

 **A/N: This is as good a place to stop as any, I guess.** **I'm aware that this story starts a little slow, and is 100% dialogue. It'll pick up, especially after Sucker Punch. As always, reviews are always appreciated!**


	2. Early Season Two

**Skepticism, like chastity, should not be relinquished too readily** _. – George Santayana_

 ** _Ooops – forgot this in Chapter One:_** **Disclaimer: _The characters portrayed are the result of the fertile mind of Andrew H Marlowe, owned by AHM & ABC Studios, and brought to life brilliantly by Nathan Fillion, Stana Katic, et al. I don't own them, I only abuse them._**

 _From previous chapter (recent history in this AU): Castle had taken the bag, and started passing out food. "Okay, mu shu for Esposito, Beckett gets the specialty dumplings and the hot and sweaty soup, Ryan, here's your zha jiang mian, and I got my usual. Here's an egg roll for everybody, and egg fried rice in the middle. Oh, Espo, here's your sauce." He removed the lid from a bowl, and a bright purple and vivid yellow liquid dazzled their eyes. "You definitely want to stir that before using it. Chop sticks for everybody!" He passed those out then opened his own container. "Dig in!"_

Esposito looked at his meal, and asked, "What is this, writer boy?"

"Oh. Okay. Here, Esposito." Castle unwrapped a small package of … somethings. "These are Mandarin pancakes. They're like tortillas." He opened the food container. "You take a pancake, put your _mu shu_ on it, and wrap it up." He did. "Most people prefer putting their sauce on the _mu shu_ before wrapping it, but past experience tells me you're a dipper." He nodded towards the brightly colored sauce. He then turned to look at Ryan, and grinned as the Irish cop struggled with his chopsticks. "Hey, Ryan, they're not pencils." He picked up his own chopsticks. "Just make the number two with your hand." Castle held up his index and middle fingers in a 'Vee', Ryan mimicking him. "Place one chopstick at the base of your thumb, and rest the middle of the chopstick on the inside part your ring finger. Your index and middle fingers are totally free. That's your base stick and won't move. Now, your Grasping Stick does all the work. It goes past the tip of your thumb, between your middle and index finger, like this. You move it by moving only the top of your thumb, leaving the base of your thumb totally still. Use your index and middle fingers as leverage to tighten or loosen your grasp, like this." Castle demonstrated by expertly snagging some of his food and taking a bite. After chewing, he asked "How are you doing, Ka … Captain."

Beckett put her soup spoon down and picked up her own chopsticks, expertly snagging a tiny dumpling. "Castle, not only are your stories highly entertaining, but you are a takeout gourmand. My congratulations, and I want the phone number of this culinary paradise before we're done here."

"Ooo. Good word usage. No problem, captain. Here." He put his takeout container on the desk, removed his cell phone from his pocket, and starting using his thumbs. "They're only about four blocks away. Little Fūqīdiàn place."

"A what place?"

"Fūqīdiàn. Chinese Mom and Pop. I'm amazed they haven't raised their prices yet, they're starting to get popular."

"This is the best hot and sour soup I've ev …". Beckett was interrupted by a fit of coughing from Esposito.

Castle looked at him and laughed out loud. "I warned you to stir it, detective."

Esposito hoarsely whispered "What is that shit?"

"That is, currently, an unblended combination of a sweet plum _hoisin_ sauce and Chinese hot mustard; and when I say 'hot' I mean nuclear. When blended, it's nirvana." Castle stuck his chopsticks in the bowl, mixed it briskly for a few seconds, then returned to eating his own food. "Try it now."

"Really?"

"The lime and the coconut, Esposito."

Esposito looked a question at Beckett, who explained "It means that the toxin and the antidote are one and the same." She picked up another dumpling, reached over and dipped it in the blended plum-mustard sauce, and popped it in her mouth. "Oh! Wow! That's incredible." Taking pity on Esposito, who was still breathing through his mouth so rapidly he was practically whistling, she asked the writer "Castle, would you be kind enough to go get some water for us. There're some bottles available in the fridge in the 3rd floor break room."

Not fooled for a minute, Castle stared back at her briefly, then glanced at the detectives on either side, before returning to Beckett. "As you wish, Captain." He put his food container on her desk, plunking his chopsticks in the remainder, slid his chair out, stood, squeezed around Esposito's chair, and exited the office, leaving the door open.

"How you doing, Ryan?"

"I think I'm getting the hang of these." He transported another bite to his mouth, only losing a little off the chopsticks. "This is like the Chinese version of my favorite Italian restaurant's Bolognese, only better." He swallowed before continuing "What's the deal with this dude, Captain?"

"Yeah, boss, what's going on?"

"I don't know yet, but I plan on finding out. Let's review what we _do_ know." She popped a dumpling. "This fairly well known but down on his luck author shows up, acting like he knows us, has details about this case that he has no business knowing, and pretends that we've worked together for years. We're not buying it, so he backs off 'til the case is resolved, then starts in on us again. After asking me out, he was actually trying to tell me what the 'real' Kate Beckett should be doing.

Now, whatever he's after, this is not something that was spur of the moment or trivial. At first I thought this was going to be some publicity stunt, but I no longer think so. For him to know all those old case details, he had to have studied them a long time. He's memorized them well enough to answer probing questions, and remembers details that _I_ have forgotten. Some of the conclusions he's come up with have been nothing short of brilliant, so he's got to be working with other law enforcement personnel. He either has had help inside the NYPD, probably inside the 12th with someone who knows us well; or he has had a large team of professionals with access to our case information, reviewing our history and feeding him the data. It's probably some combination of both."

"Like P.I.'s, captain?"

"Maybe private eyes, though that would be unbelievably expensive. Maybe retired cops. Maybe feds. He talked like he knew Captain Montgomery personally, but that might just be a dodge. When we figure out what he's after, we can then figure out who's behind him, and what they want."

"So … what … are we … doin'?"

"Ryan, chew your food. Look, guys, I know it's late, but I want to keep going as long as we can. Two reasons. If Castle, or whoever is backing him, can help us close some open cases, then I'm not too proud to accept the help. Some of the case help he's come up with already, it actually rings true to me. Also, the longer we can keep him talking, the better chance we have of figuring out what he's after."

Ryan smiled. "That's why you wanted me on the laptop to look up the case data. It frees you to study him for his tells."

She threw a fond grin towards her subordinate. "Right! And I'm using you, Esposito, as the distraction. Just be your usual, irritating self to keep him from getting too comfortable. We should figure out what he's after eventually."

"Any guesses, Captain?"

Beckett opened her top right hand drawer and fiddled with something. "I don't know, Esposito. He might be trying to influence a past case, or get information on a pending case. Whatever it is, whoever's behind him, has got to be pretty big." She shut the drawer. "I realize he probably made a ton of money on his earlier books, and his mom's a Broadway star, but we're looking at a huge investment in time and capital."

"We'll get him to spill, Captain."

"Don't underestimate him, Esposito. It won't be easy. Guys, I realize he acts like a metro-sexual prima donna, but Castle is obviously highly intelligent, has a phenomenal memory, has great attention to detail, and probably has inherited some serious acting chops. Plus, I wouldn't be surprised if he has some very high level backers, with some kind of leverage on him, so he'll be highly motivated to succeed." She smiled wolfishly. "This is going to be fun."

"Well, whatever happens, at least he knows where to find good food."

Ryan was shocked. "Partner? You actually _like_ Chinese food? It's a miracle!"

Beckett was laughing as Castle re-entered the room. He passed out the bottles of water before retaking his seat. He picked up his food container and resumed eating. "Hope I gave you guys long enough. My ears were burning the whole time."

Esposito, intent on filling yet another pancake, snarked "Maybe it's a weird STD, Castle, based on what I've heard about you."

"If you're doing it with your ears, Esposito, you're doing it wrong."

"Boys! That's enough! Castle, you need more time to eat, or can we pick up where we left off?"

"No, Captain, I'm good. Let me see. The next case after Doctor Joshua Leeds wasn't until September. Vic's name was John Allen, an insurance actuary. He lived on the Upper West Side, but was strangled and thrown off a building about a mile south of here."

As Ryan awkwardly entered the data, working around his carton of food, Beckett asked "Why was it 'not until September', Castle. What happened to your crime solving hobby during the summer?"

"A hiatus, Beckett. Summer is the usual time Black Pawn schedules my book tours, and it's when I take vacations with my daughter up in the Hampton's. Plus, I was behind on the final chapters and proofing _Heat Wave._ "

The laptop's screen changed. "Okay, I got it." Ryan then looked to his left and asked "What in the hell is a 'Heat Wave'?"

"Besides an uncomfortable weather phenomenon, it's also the name of my first book about the 12th precinct."

"You wrote a book about us? When?"

"Obviously, Detective Esposito, it was during the spring and summer of 2009." Castle took another bite of his cooling dinner.

Beckett had stopped eating, and was studying the writer opposite her. "What else, Castle?"

A smile flickered across Castle features. "Well, we _did_ kind of have a little 'falling out' during the Leeds case."

Esposito snorted. "Yeah, getting a federal witness and FBI agent shot to hell will _kind of_ do that, writer boy."

"Ya' think, Detective?" If that's what they wanted to think, Castle wasn't about to correct them. There was no reason to mention re-opening Johanna Beckett's case now; that would definitely ramp up the amount of animosity in the room. Castle still hadn't decided how to handle their 'big' cases – the one's in the forefront of his mind were Dunne, 3XK, and, of course, Bracken. His performance here was going to become less of a deposition and more of a minuet in a minefield. His poor track record for fooling Beckett did not inspire much confidence in spinning her a bunch of bullshit.

She continued to stare at Castle as he continued to eat. Instead of pursuing her immediate suspicions, she asked "Ryan?"

"Captain, the Allen case was McNulty's, one of his last. On the way to the morgue, the coroner's van was stopped and Allen's body was stolen. It was later found further uptown, pretty cut up. Coroner determined the … hijackers had removed bags of drugs the vic had swallowed. He was a drug mule."

Beckett finished chewing a dumpling. "I remember Lanie telling me about that one! We were wrapping up the Strickland shootings. Is the case still open?"

Ryan nodded. "According to this, Bellman from Narcotics and McNulty nailed the body snatchers, caught 'em red-handed, so to speak. Nobody was ever charged with Allen's murder."

"Castle?"

He finished his mouthful and swallowed before responding. "Turns out, Mister Allen had been unemployed for over eight months, without ever telling his family. He was trying to make ends meet by playing high stakes poker down in Chinatown with some Russian mobsters. Before he could pay off his gambling debt, they killed him."

"Do you know which **_гангстер_** , Castle."

Castle shot her a huge grin. "Good to know that semester in Kiev payed off, Beckett. Perps name is Vladimir Borozov." He spelled it for Ryan.

"Any hard evidence, or should we just take your word for it?"

"Yeah, Esposito. The coroner, despite Mister Allen's horrific journey, was able to determine that the murderer had a significant injury to his little finger. I went into the Chinatown poker room wired with both camera and mike. One of the _Russki's_ I was playing poker with had a prosthetic little finger. That, combined with the partials, hair, and fibers was enough for the DA."

"Why would we have sent _you_ into a poker club, writer boy?"

"Because none of you could afford the $20,000 buy in, and your partner here said you'd never get a real cop into a Chinatown game room. As it turns out, getting in was easier than getting out. Borozov was considering where to shoot me, and how many times, before Beckett came in to save my ass."

"Ryan?"

"Borozov's in the system, boss. Currently in Ryker's waiting for trial on an assault beef. I can't access any of the physical evidence from here, the autopsy report must be attached to the hijacking."

"No worries." Beckett started typing a new e-mail, as the three men continued to work on their dinners. When completed, she hit 'send', picked up her soup bowl, and yelled "Next".

"Ahh, 'The Bet'. Victims were Ashley Cosway, a couples therapist; and Frank Anderson, a retired math teacher.

"Whoa! You mean to tell us that Ashley Cosway was killed by a serial killer?"

"What? No, Beckett! I just mean that we had both cases at once. They were killed the same night. Well, actually, you and I had Ashley and these two had Frank, which turned out to be an extremely lucky break. For us, anyway."

"Ryan, please look up Frank Anderson's case for us." Her gaze grew intent. "Why was it lucky for us, Castle?"

"It's still open, isn't it? Let me guess ... You always thought it was her husband Jason, but he had an air tight alibi, right? On TV at the time of the murder! How perfect is that? Nothing weird about his finances, nothing to lead you to a hired killer, right?"

"Castle, I don't just think, I _know_ Jason Cosway killed his wife. I had that smug bastard in interrogation for six hours. I've never been more sure of a suspect's guilt, or more frustrated trying to prove it. What have you got?"

Castle turned to his right. "Ryan, did you find Frank Anderson's case file?"

He glanced at his boss, and at her nod, responded. "Yeah, Castle. Pop and drop right in front of his house. Assigned to the 5th. No known motive, possible robbery gone bad. Still open."

"Was his son-in-law, Eric Marx, ever questioned?"

"Let me see. Yeah. Twice. He was actually held for about ten hours, they thought he was somehow involved, but he didn't break. Had an air tight alibi. I don't see a motive, though."

"Frank Anderson had a three bedroom apartment. He was a widower, with only the one daughter."

Ryan scoffed. "An apartment is not normally a motive for murder."

"It was rent controlled. $562 a month."

Ryan blurted "Really? In midtown? I stand corrected."

Beckett was impatient. "Okay, Castle, I'll bite. How is a couples' therapist related to a retired math teacher."

"They're not related, Captain … their murderers are. Think ' _Strangers on a train'_."

Beckett's eyes grew huge. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Nope. Well, actually, it's strangers on a boat. They both take the same ferry to work. The trace water samples found on both victims matched the Hudson river estuary."

"Ryan?"

"On it."

"How'd they get 'em?"

"Jason was the alpha dog. You gave Eric Marx a glimpse of him in interrogation with us, then informed him that he'd been sold out. He couldn't write out his confession fast enough. Laid the whole plan on Cosway."

"Meaning … Cosway had no bargaining chip, and had to do the whole time." Beckett's smile was beatific. She started typing, and asked "Ryan?"

"Captain, it may be in the autopsy notes, but I don't see anything about trace water on Anderson."

"I remember Lanie mentioning something about trace salt water on Ashley when I revisited the case last year. Castle, if this pans out, you just earned your dinner tonight."

Ryan finished chewing his last bite. "Castle, what bet?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You mentioned a bet earlier?"

Castle lowered his voice, so it was just above a whisper. "I bet you guys that we'd solve our case before you solved yours. By the end of the cases, we had half the precinct in on the bet."

The Latino smiled. "Hey, if Marx rolled, we would have won the bet. That makes _you_ a loser."

"Uh-uh. Beckett broke Marx. You guys just sat there with your thumbs up your ass."

Without looking up, Beckett retorted "Nice imagery, Castle. And, if I _ever_ hear of any cops betting on the outcome of a homicide case in my precinct, there will be hell to pay."

Castle smirked. "I believe you put in a hundred, Beckett."

Without missing a beat, she added. "And, in Castle's imaginary world, **we** won." She hit enter, and looked up. "Wow. That felt good. Next?"

"Hmmm. I can't remember if it was Jenna McBoyd, the fashion model; Steven Fischer; con man extraordinaire; or Eliska Sokol, Czech émigré and grieving mother? They were all right around the same time. "

"Doesn't matter, they were all ours. Ryan?"

Instead, Esposito answered. "The fashion model came first."

Castle shrugged. "Okay. Jenna McBoyd, next poster child for Teddy Farrow. Stabbed to death by an award owned by a sleazy photographer, Wyatt Monroe. Killed by her jealous husband, Travis. Now I know why models are all so skinny. Everyone I met during this case made me want to throw up."

Beckett nodded. "That's pretty much how I remember it. Gentlemen, anything to add?" After getting negatives from both her detectives, she looked back at Castle. "Next?"

"One of my favorite cases ever! Steven Fischer, shot in the face during his filming of his fake arctic expedition. He was engaged to the wealthy Elise Finnegan, and when he tried to opt out of the con, his partner Susan killed him. She was caught right outside Elise's bank trying to con her out of a cool million."

"So, Master of the Macabre, how did you unravel that one?"

Castle chuckled, shaking his head. "I didn't Captain, that one was all you. Fischer had me believing he _really was_ a CIA agent."

The Captain's stare intensified. "Good thing we're not all so gullible, Castle."

"Yeah, I remember you commenting during the case that people don't change, even if they want to. Sometimes, Captain, you need to have a little faith."

"Castle, I have faith in myself, my team, the NYPD, and very little else. Putting faith in anything more just isn't worth it, in my experience. Next case?"

Castle's shoulders' visibly slumped. "That's so sad, Beckett … OK, next case. Speaking of sad, not that the others aren't, but this case was so … melancholy. Eliska Sokol. Found stuffed down a manhole. All she wanted was her child back, her little boy having been switched at birth by Dr. Cameron Talbot. Apparently, the Talbot child had Niemann-Pick, which is invariably fatal. Eliska figured it out, and was well on her way to proving it, so Cameron Talbot killed her. I imagine he's a prison doctor somewhere nowadays."

She frowned at him, glanced at each of her teammates, then asked "Next?"

"Okay, that was right before Halloween, right? Victims were Mathew Freeman, also known as Crow; and his partner Jonas Westphall, AKA Damon. Crow was a graphic artist and wannabe vampire. Damon was a writer for Crow's graphic novel, a forensic pathology student, and wannabe werewolf. Killed by Crow's step mom to cover up her earlier crimes."

"Wait!" The interruption was from Ryan. "Step mom? What earlier crime?"

Castle looked around, surprised. "You guys didn't interview the Freeman family? Alan, Janice, and … uh … Rosie?"

Beckett looked disgusted. "Of course we did, Castle. They hadn't seen their son in months, and had no apparent motive. We found evidence at both scenes implicating Morgan Lockerbie, and had both APBs and BOLOs out for him. He eventually was found dead two years later, late at night just outside a soup kitchen in the Bowery."

"Beckett, do you remember the graphic novel found at Crow's?"

"Yes I do. It was actually very good."

"Indeed it was. It was about a New York City vampire, Murloch, right?"

Beckett blinked. "Lockerbie?"

"Yes. In it was a depiction of Murloch's lair, that was obviously a building at Broome & Clinton in the lower eastside."

"So we found him alive?'

"Yep. Do you remember the evidence hidden at Damon's that Lanie found?"

Beckett was thinking, so Esposito prompted "You mean his master's thesis, Castle? All the old crime scene data from all over?"

Castle sat up, excited, trying to get them to understand. "Right! In it was a series of stories and police reports about a murdered woman dug up from an 18 year old grave in rural Pennsylvania. The facial reconstruction had an uncanny resemblance to the woman, entitled the 'Angel of Death', in all Crow's art work."

"So who's the mystery woman, Sherlock?"

Exasperated, Castle snapped "You know, Beckett …" Confronted with her 'interrogation face', he slumped. In a monotone, as if he was giving up, he continued " … Elizabeth McGinty. Went missing from Summit, New Jersey eighteen years ago. Crow's mother, and Alan's first wife. Alan McGinty, after the disappearance of his wife, married his children's nanny, Janice Freeman, and took her name because of the notoriety of his first wife's disappearance. The 9mm used was a match in both McGinty's and Damon's murder, and found at the Freeman house."

Esposito was perturbed. "Wait a minute, Captain. How do we know Lockerbie didn't do Freeman and Westphall? He was a total whack job, and left his prints all over both scenes."

"Detective, Lanie found that Lockerbie was suffering from something called porphyria, a hyper-sensitivity to light. Westphall was killed in the middle of the afternoon. He couldn't have done it."

"Okay, Super sleuth, how do we get enough probable cause to search their home?"

Castle shrugged, looking defeated, and still spoke in a deadened voice. "Well, Alan didn't know anything about either crime, so will probably just give you the gun if you ask. Janice didn't get rid of it the first time, so she probably hasn't this time either. Not her first mistake: both her murders had witnesses."

"Witnesses? Who, Castle?"

"Crow witnessed the first one, the murder of his mother, when he was two. Lockerbie witnessed Crow's murder in the cemetery."

"Doesn't help us, writer boy. Lockerbie's dead."

Beckett smiled "Yeah, Esposito, but Janice doesn't know that." She started typing, glancing repeatedly at Castle's slumped form and despondent appearance. "We're not wearing you out, are we, Castle? According to page six, you should be just getting warmed up this time of night. You up for some more?"

Much to her surprise, Castle didn't take advantage of the obvious straight lines she'd tossed in front of him. He was either worn out, or was using his lack of exuberance to mask himself. Maybe, their constant sniping and ridicule was getting to him. Regardless, he simply nodded, sighed, and continued. "Hayley Blue, troubled pop singer, first abused then killed by her agent, Ian Busch."

Ryan was at the computer. "Yeah, I remember that. I was dating a girl that was into Hayley Blue at the time." He read the case file. "I think that was Karpowski's first case. Busch eventually bowed to the inevitable and pled out."

"Karpowski's first case? Why wasn't she a team lead before that?"

Beckett shook her head. "She was second on the McNulty team for ages. She was ready to take over, but after the Tisdale case, McNulty decided to stay on 'til he had a full thirty years on the job." She added in an arid tone "Karpowski practically led the team anyway, something I'd think you'd remember, Castle. After all, _you_ were _there_. The Tisdale case was a big win for McNulty, his first in a while, so he withdrew his papers."

Esposito muttered something about "a couple of years too late" but Castle didn't catch it. Castle rubbed his forehead, then forged on "Captain Montgomery was all over the next one. Bike messenger, Caleb Shimansky, was killed while trying to deliver a package to Roy. Package was sent from one Brady Thompson, via his Aunt Sally. Turns out, he took the fall for the murder of Olivia Debiase to protect the guilty party. By party, I mean the ultra-rich conservative party of the Wellesley's, one of whom had fathered Olivia once upon a time. After a lot of misdirection from the Wellesley clan, it was found to be the family 'fixer', Frank Davis, that had originally killed Olivia. He'd arranged to have a prison guard … Peterson? … monitor Brady in prison. He was scrambling to cover his tracks."

Ryan supplied "Patterson. Nate Patterson."

"Okay." Her star witness, the high-spirited story spinner, was drying up on her – now relating just the bare facts in a careful monotone. He was no longer supplying those extra tidbits of information that could lead her to discover the source of his data, and eventually his ultimate goal. She looked at her father's watch. "Guys, it's after ten. Let's take a break for a few minutes." As they stood up, she requested "Please clean up your empty containers. I really don't need my office smelling like a Shanghai slum tomorrow."

As the men filed out, she caught Ryan's eyes. He nodded, grabbed Beckett's empty containers, walked to the break room and threw everything away, and promptly returned. "Captain?"

Beckett glanced through her blinds, seeing Castle and Esposito disappear into the men's room. She grabbed the elephants off her desk, and gently handed them to the smaller man. "Ryan, I want you to hide these guys. If you have room, put them in a desk drawer. CAREFULLY, Ryan!"

"Why, Captain?"

"Because Castle seems to be fixated on them, and I want to rattle him."

Ryan smiled. "From where I was sitting, I don't think it's elephants he's fixated on. With all due respect, Captain, he appeared to be staring at you more than anything."

"Not me, Ryan, or not _just_ me." She followed him out of her office, swinging the door closed. Her one hand found its way to her necklace. "He either has a breast fetish, or is intrigued by my Mom's ring. Maybe both." She turned towards the ladies room. "Be right back."

Ryan knew both his and his partner's desks were crammed with files from previous cases, and would never accommodate the thirty inch long figurines. However, the newest homicide detective at the 12th, Marilyn Crane, was out on maternity leave. Since she was used as a floater by both Karpowski's and their team, he had her keys, and he knew she had the room. He went over to Crane's desk, slid the elephants into her bottom drawer on top of the neat row of compact disks, and slowly shut it, insuring that the top of the figurines would clear the bottom of the next drawer. After relocking it, he headed for the john. As he opened the swinging door, he heard his partner talking over near the sink.

" … 'elp me out here, Castle? If even half your stories in there check out, you're helpin' us out. If you know us, then you know we'll show our appreciation for any help you give us. We know you're not some fake psychic, 'cause you don't use the same pscho-babble those nut jobs do when they call in. Why don't we just cut this short. Tell me how you know all about us, and our cases, so we know what we're dealing with."

In a soft voice, Castle answered "I would, Javier, but what's the point? You won't believe me, and you'll just be pissed 'cause you think I'm bullshitting you. Believe it or not, I know how you react to people. If you think I'm holding out on you, you'll try both good cop and bad cop to get me to open up. However, if you're convinced I'm lying, you just go from bad cop to worse cop."

Ryan smiled as he finished at the urinal, thinking the writer had truly nailed his partner. As he made his way to the sinks, he asked "What about me, Castle? Think I'll buy whatever story you're selling?"

"Kevin, there was a time that _you'd_ , at least, consider possibilities that did not fall strictly within so-called rational parameters. I guess it depends on how jaded you've become over the years."

"Okay, Castle, let me guess. You're from the future, and you're here to correct some problem before a global catastrophe."

"Close, but no cigar, Ryan. I have no more idea of what's going to happen next then you do."

"Bro, let me try." Esposito threw the towel he'd been drying his hands with away. "Castle, maybe you're the ghost of futures past, or Jacob Marley, or something. You're just here to show us the error of our ways."

"Not that either, Esposito. I assure you, there's nothing supernatural about me."

"That's too bad, Castle, 'cause I was thinking of a different Christmas movie. You sure you're not some angel, trying to earn his wings, or something?"

Castle turned towards the door, sadly shaking his head slowly. "Right movie, wrong character, detective. Don't think 'Clarence', think 'George Bailey." He swung the door opened and walked out.

The partners stared at each other, puzzled, then followed the big man out. Esposito quickened his steps until he was even with the author. "You know, Castle, you seem like a decent guy. You're smart. You're successful. Can you put yourself in our shoes? We're just a bunch of ignorant cops. How should we react, when some stranger comes in, knows stuff that he doesn't have any business knowing? Starts pointing out our screw-ups from years ago. How should we react?"

With Beckett's door closed, Castle turned to look at the Latino man, perching on the side of Ryan's desk so their eyes were level. "That's brings up several points, detective. One, you are not _a bunch of ignorant cops,_ you're the best homicide team in the city. Two, you'll react to me the way you react to everyone: you'll check me out, talking to everybody you can think of that might have insight into the veracity of my story, while Ryan dissects my life from his computer. Unfortunately, that won't help you much in this instance." Castle looked at her as Beckett strolled up. "Third, if I were in your shoes and heard this story, my first guess would probably be some CIA conspiracy, followed closely by something miraculous or magical, possibly involving aliens, 'cause that's how I roll. Lastly, I'm reporting how **_I_** remember events from a long time ago. I'm not trying to point out errors or lapses, but if I can help close some cold cases, I will." Castle's gaze at Beckett intensified. "Perhaps, if you find my information beneficial, you might find yourself inclined to aid me if and when I need assistance."

Beckett showed a small smile. "So, you're either a spy or an alien?" When he returned her smile, she asked, disarmingly, "So, how can we assist the CIA or your alien overlords, Castle?"

"Not closing the current case would be a good start."

"Well, perhaps we can accommodate you." She looked at her detectives. "Did I miss anything important?"

Ryan grinned. "He thinks he's Jimmy Stewart."

She looked at the writer with a quirky smile. "You seeing six foot three inch rabbits, Castle?"

"Not 'Harvey', Captain. 'It's a Wonderful Life' ." Ryan corrected.

Beckett kidded, "Did the mean Mr Potter steal all your money?"

Castle's eyes fell immediately, as his smiling face transformed instantly into a look of abject pain. Beckett somehow felt she was looking directly into a man's tortured soul. In a tight voice, Castle lamented "I wish!". In her experience, nobody was that good of an actor, where they could have their blood drain from their face at will. Beckett watched him literally try to marshall his emotions, like a general rallying his troops after a bitter defeat. Without knowing why, she was rooting for his snarky attitude and sunny disposition to return.

It was at that moment that she realized she'd already come to a subconscious conclusion about the man. Her gut was telling her that he was one of the good guys, well meaning, and would not intentionally hurt her or her team. He undoubtedly had some unknown agenda, which may or may not be benign, and could be either his or someone else's; but the man himself wasn't an enemy. His brilliant blue eyes finally rose, to find her softened expression regarding him. She graced him with a gentle smile. "C'mon, Castle, let's review the rest of the year, and we'll call it a night. Just three or four more cases."

He gave her a firm nod and stood, stretching his back. Beckett opened her office door and quickly scooted around her desk. She remained standing, studying the writer's face as he entered the room behind Ryan. Castle glanced at the desk and stopped so suddenly that Esposito bumped into him from behind. He looked up into Beckett's eyes, his expression shouting extreme disappointment. He sighed, looked around the office, and asked "Ryan, could you come with me please?" Before Beckett could interject any comment, he cut her off. "We'll only be a few seconds, Captain." He side stepped Esposito and re-exited the room.

At Beckett's nod Ryan followed the bigger man out of the room. As they headed across the bullpen in the direction of the interrogation rooms, Beckett kept her voice quiet so they couldn't overhear. "Esposito, Castle has a daughter. If I remember correctly, her name is Alexis. After we're through here, I want you to check out her whereabouts, quickly and quietly. Get Ryan to find her cell number, and do a GPS locate. Let's make sure she's okay."

Esposito kept his voice low to match hers. "Yeah, I saw that too? Whatever your writer boy is doing, it's not for money. I'm guessing he's fallin' into some serious shit, and it may be way over his head. Do I need a warrant?"

"He's not my writer, Esposito." She continued to keep an eye on Castle and Ryan, as they apparently were rooting around in a storage closet. "We have cause to be concerned about the well being of a citizen, and to the best of our knowledge we're not pursuing any criminal activity, so a warrant isn't necessary. My call."

"On it, Captain. What should we do about all of Castle's cold case crap?"

"Nice alliteration, Esposito! Maybe having a well known writer around here is good for you." She smiled at his scowl, then grew serious. "Since I'm the only one who ever met Ben Davidson, I'm planning on swinging by Mrs. Marsh's place first thing in the morning and asking her about her previous police visitor." She shook her head at Esposito's puzzled expression. "Before you guys came in here tonight. I have already sent an email to the Lancaster Pennsylvania's Sheriff's Department to hold Mary Wright for us, and I'll follow up with a phone call early tomorrow. I'll send someone off Karpowski's team to pick her up."

"So, you think Writer Boy's facts will check out?"

"It would be idiotic for him to feed us lies that are so easy to corroborate. Castle may be a lot of things, but he doesn't appear stupid to me. So, I'm going on the assumption that his stories will check out. I'm taking both your team and Karpowski's out of the rotation until we can get caught up. We're only through less than a year! I need you and Ryan to get a warrant for the Freeman residence. I don't want to have to rely on Alan Freeman's generosity to get a hold of a possible murder weapon. If a CI source isn't enough for the New Jersey judge, talk to me. I also want you two to do a full background on two people: Brandon Funk, who should be about 24 years old now, and Paul Raynolds, who used to be Chad Ellis."

During these last instructions, Castle returned, followed by a frowning Ryan. Castle was carrying a 'snoop', a device used for detecting electronic eaves dropping equipment. As he started to sweep for bugs. Without thinking, Esposito asked, "Castle, what in the hell are you doing?"

If he didn't realize his mistake before, the ferocious glares from both Castle and his captain clued him in. Without missing a beat, Castle explained "I asked Ryan to get me this pencil and some blank paper. I'm drawing the three of you a pretty picture." Castle paused the snoop's wand in front of an electrical outlet, showing the dial on the device to the other three in the room. It was pinned to the maximum, showing the presence of a listening device. He started to sweep Beckett's desk.

Beckett continued issuing instructions. "I will handle the feds, as far as Carla 'Coldblood' Dante is concerned. I should be able to get a lot of mileage with them out of that one, if it pans out."

Castle paused again at her lamp; again, the dial was maxed out. Gently tipping it over, they could all see a tiny box clamped over the wires that entered the base of the lamp.

Beckett's face was now red, her expression incensed, but she continued with no strain in her voice. "As far as Jason Cosway and Eric Marx are concerned, that has to be carefully choreographed. I want Karpowski to pick up Cosway tomorrow, 'cause she has no prior history with him. We'll set him up in Interrogation 3, with the heater turned way up. He'll ask for his attorney, but we won't let him call until he's in there, so it'll take a while. Once his attorney arrives, Rosalyn will ask him to write out something, it doesn't matter what. At that exact moment, we'll walk Marx by the viewing window on the way to Interrogation 1."

When spouting her plan to break Marx, Castle had motioned her to stand. Fuming, she stood quietly, her hands at her sides. Again the dial pegged to the max, this time right at Beckett's blazer pocket. She reached in and pulled out the offending device, her department issued cell phone, and placed it on her desk before resuming her seat.

Castle moved back around the desk and quietly squeezed into his chair. "Very good, Beckett. By then, Cosway should be sweating up a storm. Marx can't help but think he's being sold out." He paused, reached over and picked up a piece of paper and shook it noisily, before replacing it. "Here, Captain. I drew you a pretty picture. As you can see, it's the picture of a bed. My bed. Unless there's some compelling reason to continue tonight, that's where I'm heading." To keep up appearances, he added "I think we're all pretty beat. You are welcome to join me …" a long pause with a big smirk, before adding "… in calling it a night."

Beckett stared at him, her mind racing, before agreeing. "Okay, Castle. Looks like it'll be a big day tomorrow. Let's pack it in."

They all stood, Beckett gathering her things. Castle smiled, reached over, pulled open her top right hand drawer, and pointed at the small tape recorder that was on top of her copy of 'Storm Season', which she had tried to hide. "Don't forget that, captain. It's bound to come in handy."

They left the room, Beckett turning out the lights and shutting the door. Castle quickly marched over to Beckett's old desk, where he plied the wand once more. The device showed another bug was in her old phone. She quietly placed her cell phone on Esposito's desk and motioned the others to follow, leading the way to the conference room. She and her senior detective stood quietly as Castle swept the room, Ryan following and occasionally pointing out potential hiding places. After a few minutes, Castle turned off the device and grabbed a chair.

"This room appears clean."

Beckett sat opposite him, setting the tape recorder down. She turned it back on. "What in the hell is going on, Castle?"

"Where are the elephants, Beckett?"

"Somewhere safe." She unconsciously grabbed her Mom's ring. "Why are you so fascinated by them?"

He stared at the hand fingering her necklace. "Let's skip forward to the start of the New Year. A Westies' enforcer, Jack Coonan, was knifed to death in his own apartment, despite being heavily armed." As Ryan opened his laptop to turn it on, Castle objected. "Hold it, Ryan. We don't want anyone to know we are revisiting this case. Let's just do this from memory, shall we?"

Beckett responded, "It was Rosalyn Karpowski's case, but Captain Montgomery asked me to ride shotgun with her."

"Really? Why?"

"Because it got really big and really messy in a hurry."

"Tell me about it."

"Isn't that your job?"

"Not this time." There was more than a hint of iron in Castle's voice. "Tell me everything."

Esposito, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet the past few minutes, started to explode, but stopped at Beckett's calming gesture. She nodded. "Okay, Castle. I guess it's my turn. Karpowski braced Finn Rourke, head of the Westies, twice in his own bar, which took a lot of balls. Coonan's girlfriend led us to a cache of drugs, which led us to Johnny Vong, the heroin importer. He, in turn, led us to his boss, who just happened to be Jack Coonan's brother, Dick. Why is it, I'm thinking none of this is news to you?"

"Keep going, Captain."

"Turns out, Dick had his brother Jack iced by using an international hitman named Rathborne. Karpowski set up a sting to trap Rathborne by pretending to buy a hit on Vong. She raised the money, found a replacement Vong, but the sting didn't work. For some reason, Rathborne never showed."

"How did Karpowski raise the money?"

She raised an eyebrow. "It was a mess. A city councilman, Roselawn, and the Captain over at the 133rd, O'Connell, managed to come up with the money from somewhere, but it took too long, and the scam leaked out. It's too hard to keep a secret with that many people involved. Montgomery managed to make sure that Karpowski's career didn't take a hit, even though there were a lot of pissed off people."

"What happened to Coonan?"

"I have no idea. We'd given him immunity, but I heard the feds got a hold of him. Threatened to turn him over to the Afghani government if he didn't play ball. So, tell me what you know, Castle." Now it was Beckett's voice that had steel in it.

"Turns out, Jack Coonan wasn't this mysterious hit man's first New York victim. Prior to that, he'd killed, using the same method, several others. In May of 1999, he killed Jennifer Stewart, a paralegal. Prior to that in March, a document clerk named Scott Murray and a legal secretary, Diane Cavanaugh. And, in Washington Heights, on January 9th, 1999, he …"

"STOP!" Beckett found herself on her feet, trembling. She was leaning over the table, just inches from Castle. In a trembling voice she asked "What do you want?"

Castle's eyes never wavered, his voice never faltered. "I want to make sure that he doesn't get away with it. I want to see you finally get justice. I want to make sure you don't get yourself or anyone else killed on this case. I want to make sure that a couple of other psychotic sociopaths aren't loose in this world of yours." A tear leaked out of one eye, but his voice remained steady. "But more than anything else, I desperately want, with all my heart and soul, to go home, Beckett. I just want to go home."

 ** _A/N – Another good stopping place. Like any journey, I know our eventual destination in this story, but there are many different routes that can be taken before safely arriving. If you have a suggestion, I'd love to hear from you._**


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